Amiko: Adjustments – Part 1

Every new situation requires a period of adjustment—at least that’s what Renee kept telling herself. It had only been two weeks, and the Master’s fascination with his new “toy” had been anticipated by Renee throughout the entire process of acquisition. Having been a professional counselor for several years, she knew all the signs and symptoms of jealousy and it galled her that over the past two weeks she found herself falling into the predictable pattern like a textbook case.

She fought her impulses, putting on a smiling face as she dropped the Master at the airport for his trip to Paris to pick up his new prize. She struggled through the week he was gone, trying to squelch her desire to phone him each night at bedtime. When he arrived back home, she welcomed him with open arms. She welcomed the new girl, Amiko, too, but it took somewhat more of an effort.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t find the girl charming, beautiful and interesting—she did. But since Amiko’s purchase, the Master spent the nights with her, and several hours of his busy day as well, breaking her in and showing her around. Over dinners and breakfasts, they smiled and laughed with each other, exchanging intimate glances that made Renee want to hide in the closet until the adjustment period was over.

The Master hadn’t ignored her completely, despite his tendency to focus on new playthings until his interest waned and calmed. As was appropriate, that first day of Amiko’s arrival he’d had the woman strip for an inspection by Renee. She was struck by the delicate beauty of Amiko. Had Renee, herself, been Master of the household she knew she would have indulged herself as thoroughly in the tender Asian beauty of the new member of their family. After all, who could resist the silken black fall of the young woman’s hair, which brushed her perfectly shaped bottom like a tease. Porcelain skin was highlighted by delicate pink at cheeks, and blood red on lips and nails. The girl’s breasts were small, firm, areola tender as a watercolor, and her nipples were sensitive, reacting with an immediate ruche at Renee’s touch. Amiko’s pussy was smooth and hairless, apparently laser-depilated as there was no hint of stubble, and as perfectly formed as a juicy fig, pink and inviting inside. Renee’s mouth watered as she contemplated the possibilities between herself and her new fellow-servant.

Fortunately, the Master insisted that Renee taste of that sweet fruit as he excited Amiko and then offered his glistening wet fingers to Renee to clean with her tongue. With innocent consistency of beauty and tender appeal, Amiko tasted fresh, clean and purely female. Her scent was erotic and stirring, rich, and full of promise.

Renee was instantly in lust.

In fact, it was a little difficult for her to determine whether it was her unfulfilled desire to have the girl that was bothering her, or a simple case of jealousy and minor neglect. Perhaps both.

In the meantime, Kevin was pleasantly sated, sending Renee to her own room each night after their usual before-bedtime cuddle—now with three people where before there had virtually always been two.

Renee concentrated her efforts on welcoming Amiko to the household, showing her where things were, how things had been done in the five years that Renee had been the only woman in residence, except for brief periods of a month or two here and there when one of the Master’s admirers would enjoy their hospitality on a temporary basis. The temporary nature of those previous women made them guests, not permanent members of the household as Amiko was—and that changed the picture dramatically.

Renee helped Amiko settle into her new room comfortably, showing her which shelves and drawers in their shared bathroom were hers to use. In the process, she got to know the lovely woman a little bit.

Born in Japan twenty-two years ago, Amiko had had an insecure childhood. Her father had deserted the family after the birth of Amiko’s younger sister, disgusted that his wife had produced five girl children and no sons to carry on his lineage. Hard work and a cancerous tumor had killed Amiko’s mother when Ami had been just three years old, leaving the oldest daughter Suki, aged fourteen, to head the family. Suki struggled as a laborer in the fields for nearly a year before she was lured into prostitution by the offer of easy money. The lifestyle, however, was quite demanding, often keeping the beautiful woman away from home for days at a time. During one long absence, the third child, Kiyo, had been killed in a traffic accident. The sisters grieved deeply, each in her own way, but life went on despite the loss.

Soon most of the responsibility for raising the younger girls fell to the second girl, Hanako, who turned to the church with her despair and fear. Hanako tried to teach the younger girls Catholic values, urging them to work hard at their school studies, and bitterly decrying the life that Suki had fallen into. As the next-to-youngest, Amiko had been greatly confused by what she heard, versus what she intuited. In her young mind, Suki had done what she had to do and was their savior and provider, seeing that they were clothed, fed, and educated which was far more than could have been expected had Suki continued as a field worker. Hanako, however, aided by the staunch discipline and dogma at the Catholic school, was adamant, insisting that the girls pray for Suki’s immortal soul. Hanako swore that all men were evil, despicable creatures who preyed on women in need and that they were to be avoided at all costs.

With a natural curiosity, Amiko wondered at these mysterious men and their “evil” ways. Suki prospered by the generosity of the evil ones, while Hanako grew more vehement and shrill with each passing year.

As a consequence, Amiko and her younger sister, Jin, spent many hours fantasizing together about their futures, the lives they would one day have. Jin wanted nothing more than to live in a big house with many rooms, all for her to decorate and arrange and enjoy in peace. She wanted pretty clothes, lavish jewelry and the attention she’d not been given as a child. Amiko, on the other hand, had a mystery to solve. She wanted to find out about men—what made them so evil, and yet so very, very interesting. She also wanted to finish school and travel. She didn’t care where she might go. A pile of battered travelogues lay at the foot of her sleeping mat like a catalogue of dreams.

As young Amiko entered her first year at the Catholic High School for Girls, Jin went off to Sapporo on the island of Hokkaidō for a short visit with Suki and did not return. Amiko received a letter from her stating that she’d been introduced to a gentleman whom she’d fallen madly in love with. She’d decided to stay in Sapporo with Suki and see where the relationship would lead. Reading between the lines, Ami realized that her sister was finding her way toward the life she’d been dreaming about, and doing it in the only way she could.

Amiko’s fascination grew. How was it that men had so much power? And what was the link between these powerful fellows and women?

Hanako entered the service of the church as a nun, and Amiko spent those three years of high school living in the convent dormitory. She didn’t fit in among the other girls because she’d started so late and was several years older than most of them. The nuns forbade her visits to Suki in Sapporo, keeping her a virtual prisoner.

One nun had taken pity on the eighteen-year-old Amiko, comforting her through long nights of anxiety and loneliness. Eventually, right before she turned nineteen, Amiko had become the older nun’s lover. With great secrecy and shame, Amiko and Sister Mary Thomas explored each other’s bodies with silent intensity. Unable to confess their sins, lest they each be expelled, they sought out other penance for their continuing misdeeds.

One evening, Sister Mary Thomas produced a horse-hair flogger and after indulging her need for Amiko’s flesh, had proceeded to self-flagellate her back and shoulders until she was welted and bleeding. Amiko submitted to the treatment as well, though she didn’t have the fortitude to inflict it upon herself.

From that point forward, after each night spent in sweating, pelvis grinding, nipple-sucking abandon, Amiko would be flogged until she was reduced to abject tears and then she would kneel and pray while Sister Mary Thomas punished herself with far greater vehemence than would have been shown had someone else performed the chastisement.

But it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, Amiko would have to leave the convent and Sister Mary Thomas.

Not long after, Amiko’s trunks got delivered to a storage facility which was holding them for her arrival in Paris. Weariness warred with the excitement of being in a new city as she came off the plane. She had only one small bag, carried onto the plane with her, and so went directly to Customs, avoiding the other 300 jostling travelers who had deplaned with her. Once through Customs, she stood at the exit doors of the terminal and eagerly sniffed at the Parisian air.

Paris! Finally, to be away from the convent, away from confinement and poverty.

She turned to hail a cab and was nearly felled by a man moving quickly through the throngs. Her purse, the only link between her and her new life as a student at the Sorbonne, left with the thug at a much greater rate than he had approached. Screaming, cursing, pleading, Amiko ran after the thief to no consequence. Suddenly, a large man came out of the crowd ahead and stuck out a beefy arm to halt the criminal.

Amiko’s papers, her small funds, addresses, proof of scholarship, everything that her life hinged upon was saved by this one act of heroism. To say that she was grateful to the man was a gross understatement. Innocently, she praised the big man who introduced himself as Marc Maroten. Ami further explained her circumstances to him, telling him in her academic French, that she had only just arrived in Paris for the first time and would be seeking lodging near the University. Classes were due to start in three weeks. Did he know of a modest boarding house she might find near there?

Marc had immediately offered the lovely nineteen-year-old a suite in his home. He told her that he was a bachelor living in an old house that was really too big for him alone and yet was too valuable to be sold at the current market prices.

Over lunch, fascination for the man easily overcame Amiko’s reluctance to take such offers from strangers. He was large, but muscular, and well-groomed, with a dark beard and moustache and deep, deep brown eyes. His smile was engaging, and his sense of humor was universal. As it turned out, he owned an import/export business in Paris and had done considerable business in Japan. The smattering of Japanese he’d picked up worked into the conversation to help Amiko’s French.

In time, her fascination for Marc grew beyond her ability to restrain her curiosity. Staying in his home was comfortable, and though he was often busy and away, whenever he was home he was affectionate and teased her in ways she’d never experienced before. At first shy, Amiko learned accidentally that her nudity brought her greater attention from the big man, drawing his eyes as she walked from the bathroom to her bedroom one afternoon when she thought he was out. She’d gone beet red with embarrassment that time, but couldn’t seem to help herself and found herself seeking more opportunities to tease his gaze toward her.

He, too, began to allow her to see him nude. When it first happened, a blush suffused her entire body, but Ami could not turn her eyes away. Never before had she seen a man like that, and the differences between their genders caused her flesh to tighten and her breath to catch. A few days later, he asked her to come scrub his back in the bathtub, and that same tightness cloaked her along with the irresistible entrancement.

As she scrubbed his wide back, she’d taken note of the firm texture of his skin, the paleness of her hands against his olive tones. Gently, he asked her to remove her clothing so that he, too, might admire her beauty. Caught in the act of admiring him so openly, Amiko was compelled to comply to his request. She peeled off her clothing and again knelt by the tub to touch him with soap and washcloth.

His eyes held hers intently, as slowly, he reached forward to touch a hard-pointed nipple. Her gasp seemed to encourage him to further touches. Amiko’s body responded to the familiar and yet new sensations his large, hard fingers brought about, and there was clear evidence of his desire for her. Her eyes widened and went immediately to his.

Wordlessly, he moved her soapy hand from his shoulder to his raging hard-on. At first she resisted, knowing it was sinful, knowing that it wasn’t right in God’s eyes. But he held her hand in place on him, teaching her the stroking rhythm he enjoyed despite her weak attempts to withdraw her hand. His excitement wasn’t only written largely with his cock, it was also potently clear on his face and in his eyes. Amiko found that incredibly intoxicating—that she could produce such a reaction in him was amazing and she wanted more!

There was little resistance left in her. Amiko had to encourage him to take her further, faster as his hands moved back to her breasts. Kneading, pinching, finding her vulnerable to the pain/pleasure principle, he brought her over the edge with a resounding climax. Gasping with reaction, her body still shuddering its release, he lifted her by her narrow waist and brought her into the tub to lie atop his body.

As his large, hard tool began to prod her virgin interior, a tiny panic overtook Amiko. She struggled, pleading with him to let her go, and striking his chest and face with her fists until he caught her hands and held her still. He simply held her there, not impaling her further until her panic deserted her in favor of the sweet roughness of his palm stroking her bottom. He murmured calming words, tender loving phrases generously sprinkled with soft vulgarities which excited her further.

Becoming more comfortable with her body pressed so intimately to his, Amiko raised her bottom against his palm, only vaguely aware that she was doing so. Several times, she forced his palm to greater pressure on her soft flesh. She moaned with delight as he tentatively tried a single wet spank. Encouraged, he applied quite a few more, then reached between her legs to the center of her excitement.

Whispering in her ear, he raised her hips slightly, sliding his engorged cock along her slit as she arched backward. She felt lithe and young, the blood-filled head of Marc’s prick popping up between her virgin cunt lips and then out again along her clit. Slowly, slowly, he lowered her on his phallus, halting at the presence of the hymen. He murmured questions about her innocence, establishing her lack of experience. And although she was embarrassed by her carnal need and lack of sophistication and became suddenly shy, she wanted to encourage him.

She complained in a moan of it hurting to have him stretching her, and he made her admit, teasing her unmercifully as he took things slowly, that she enjoyed the pain and craved his cock. Soon enough she admitted her sinful lust and begged him to stop teasing her. He hesitated. Amiko squirmed against him, whispering the words for “more” and “please,” in French. Warning her of the searing pain she might expect, he pulled her down forcefully onto his large endowment, and she screamed and thrashed against him, even while her body naturally drew him in further and further.

A few drops of virgin blood stained the water as she rocked against him, and not long after, she accepted Marc’s seed and found her own stunning release.

Amiko stayed with Marc for two years, learning his way of doing things and experiencing the sensations he gifted to her. The first thing he taught her was contraception, which was a practice Amiko knew went counter to the Church’s teachings. She was not struck dead by God, though, so maybe it wasn’t so bad as she’d been taught. Very soon after, Marc taught her about the heightened delight of a man’s strong fingers on her nipples. The harsh pressure gave her an electric jolt directly down to her core.

His tongue on her sweet pussy wasn’t anything like Sister Mary’s. His was relentless, never allowing her to squirm away, no matter how intense the sensations, no matter how many times she came with earth-shattering force. His hands on her slender hips were strong when he tilted her bottom upward and took her from behind.

The sounds and smells, the rampant heat of his cock, were all highly intoxicating and she never tired of them, constantly wanted more. She was always wet, always ready.

Near the end of their second year, he started teaching her the positions of submission. It delighted her no end to get down on her knees and kiss his feet. She knew obeisance from her experience in the convent. It was comfortable and familiar, and besides, she truly was worshipful of Marc. He had given her so many moments of great pleasure; it was the least she could do to give him the servitude he deserved.

Each day, she went off to school and he to work, but at night, as the glittering lights of Paris came to life around them, so too would their secret life awaken.

She greeted him upon his homecoming, naked, or wearing only the skimpiest of thong panties. As he closed the door, she would drop to her knees and kiss his shod feet, waiting for him to call her name. He always had a kind word for her, asking about her day as she rose to hug him and enjoy a tender kiss.

He would give her a sharp spank on her bottom, and she would giggle and hurry away to pour him wine. Marc sat in his favorite chair, and told her what would please him that day.

“Rub my feet,” or neck or shoulders, was a frequent request, but not long after, he’d finish his wine and rise and she would follow him into the bedroom where she removed his clothes and offered him more comfortable ones to change into.

It became a routine whenever he was in town. If she forgot anything, or neglected to put things to rights in order for the housekeeper to do her job the next day, she was spanked soundly. Although it often made her squirm and cry, she loved the sting of his hand on her bottom and the hot redness there afterward. She craved the release of tension as she sobbed at his feet, the total freedom of knowing that her actions had consequences and she had the choice to obey or be punished.

They made love every night, sometimes more than once. But Marc, in his early thirties, occasionally went out with other women closer to his own age and didn’t come home overnight. Amiko was unhappy and restive on those nights, turning to her own fingers and a secret vibrator to meet her needs.

That’s really flattering. Thank you. I’d write another one (have 12 short stories I could share about the trio), but the publisher of Master of Two has ROFR and right now is not a good time to poke that button.